


Fit

by ClutchHedonist



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, PWP, Spanking, desperate!Dok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dok documents the many small ways in which his body fits the Major's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fit

The Doktor would be hard pressed to find a more disparate or better-fitting body to his own. The thought brings a whisper of a smile across his lips as the Major’s hand closes over his throat. Thick and short, the vice-like fingers lock like a puzzle piece around the Doktor’s slender neck, and the taller man’s pointed chin dips low to secure them in place.

“What are you smiling for, hein?” The Major hisses as he pulls the other man deeper into the embrace.

The Doktor struggles to gasp, misshapen hands curling into quivering fists. His eyelids flutter as the Major’s increased pressure causes a few drops of precome to soak through his trousers. 

“Nothing… mein Herr…” He chokes.

Something about being in the open, in the hall where anyone could see, makes the desire to satisfy the shorter man’s sudden hunger thrum through him even more tautly. He sinks lower against the wall, his knees rustling against the folds of the Major’s overcoat as they part around the broad waist. He can feel the curve of the other man’s stomach come to rest against the sharp crooks of his hips.

A savage hand knits into his fine, white-blonde hair, and the Doktor’s body pistons forward into a helpless arc.

“You are so hard already, meine kleine Schlampe?” The Major’s lips brush the shell of the Doktor’s ear, and he shudders.

The lithe man responds with the smallest of whines. His hands fly to the lapels of the Major’s coat and knit into the material, “Bitte…”

The Major’s laugh bounces off the walls of the hall, crashes into his ears with crushing sonority. In meek desperation, the Doktor grinds his hips into the other man’s.

“Have you always been such eine Hure, Avondale?” The stocky man chuckles, “Or has it just been so long?”

“Bitte…only for you, mein Herr…” The Doktor gasps as the pressure against his throat lessens. The force of blood rushing back into his head nearly crumples him to the floor. Through the brief haze, he can feel a stout hand come to rest in the small of his back.

A soft purr escapes the Major at the sight. The angular, urgent frame before him seems perpetually in motion during moments like these. With the slightest change in tone, it shudders, contorts, serves. He can already feel the Doktor’s hardness straining against his own.

“Tell me what you need.” He orders.

“You…” The Doktor whines, a long hand reaching back to close around the small one clamped in his hair. The furrow of his cheekbone nuzzles into the breadth of the Major’s wrist.

“Und just how do you need me?” He gives his wrist a small twist at the feel of the narrow fingers over his own.

A groan jars through the Doktor’s body, “Please!” He whimpers, “Bitte, inside…”

The Major’s mouth pricks up on one side. It only takes a moment to dislodge the lab coat from the other’s shoulders. A button from one of the Doktor’s suspenders clacks to the floor with the force of the smaller man’s zipper-unfastening yank. Shameless, the slender man wraps his long arms about the Major’s shoulders, arching into him, offering.

“Bitte…take this body…” He breathes, cheek pressed flush against the crown of the wider man’s hair.

A single, rough shove is all it takes to free the Doktor of his pants, and he stumbles for a moment to step out of his shoes as well. A shudder ripples through him as the Major’s gaze rakes over his frame. Falling motionless, he watches the smaller man’s face. 

Evaluating. Even the breath freezes within him. He notices with dismay that his hands are splayed to maintain his balance against the wall, but he doesn’t dare to move them. Beneath the younger man’s scrutiny, his cheeks burn with acute awareness of the fused digits.

“Max…” The name passes almost soundlessly through his lips. Something within his chest jerks as the Major’s eyes snap up to meet his own. The sound of the other man’s palm cracking against his cheek registers in his ears before it prickles through his skin. The Doktor sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as his nails scrape against the wall behind him.

“Turn around, Schlampe.” The stout blonde commands.

Ducking his chin, the Doktor obeys. Without hesitation, his lanky back bows into a slim curve, and his cheek comes to rest against the wall. Behind him, he can hear the small clinks of the Major’s belt buckle coming undone. A shivering sigh escapes him.

The first blow of the belt against his bare flesh catches him by surprise, and he chokes on a startled yelp. It takes all his willpower to keep from coming with each ensuing sharp, measured strike. 

Watching the bruises bloom on the Doktor’s delicate skin reminds the Major of the reason for their encounters in the first place. The sight, the smell, the thought of breaking something so desperate into hundreds of pieces…the thick man’s arm guides the belt with devastating force to the space just beneath the Doktor’s ass, and the other man keens beneath the punishing smack, but his body still arches back into the blow. The Major can almost taste the hunger burning in the pit of his stomach.

The older man’s frame sags faintly as the belt is discarded, but the reprieve is brief. The sound of trousers being unbuttoned barely dawns on him before the Major’s cock drives into him so mercilessly that tears spring to his eyes. Sinking his teeth into one gloved knuckle, he howls in the most exquisite pain he’s felt in months.

The Doktor’s tightness reassures the shorter man of his absolute fidelity. While he plays, Avondale waits. The idea only redoubles the ruthlessness of his thrusts. The sound of the slim body before him battering against the wall with each motion pulls the corners of his mouth into a delighted sneer. It takes a few moments to discern the jumbled syllables that trickle from the Doktor’s throat.

“Please…please…please…”

The beads of precome slicking Avondale’s length drip steadily as he begs. With a grunt, the Major speeds his brutal rhythm. The agitation is enough to throw the Doktor over the edge with a prideless wail. The unthinkable friction of the lithe man’s contracting body pulls the Major to his own growling climax.

At first, the Doktor isn’t certain if his legs can keep him upright, especially as the other man unceremoniously withdraws. His entire weight sinks into the support of the wall.

“You will see to it that dinner is prepared on time, ja?” The Major commands as he buttons his trousers once more.

“Jawohl…mein Herr…” The Doktor pants.

For a moment, he believes that the other man has already gone. Then, a small palm cups the curve of his jaw. He smiles.


End file.
